


Learn a Thing or Two

by Jakixarv



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: i guess it might be shippy but not for a while yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23239141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakixarv/pseuds/Jakixarv
Summary: Carving out a niche in the world that wants to grind you to nothing proves harder than they're able to take right now.  A chance encounter in the night might be just the push needed to building themselves back up again.  The danger, and those who fight it--realising what's at stake might put things into a better perspective.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry) & Original Character(s), Dante (Devil May Cry)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Monster in the Night

They were seeing _red_ , and not in the _anger_ sort of sense. It filled their vision, ebb and flow of fabric in a draft.

A blink, _focus_. Another blink. It _was_ fabric, tails of a red coat.

Heat of another body, so close to them it was nearly smothering.

“Made it in time, miss,” the voice was light, but out of breath.

They didn’t have time to notice anything more, before the person braced their heel and took off toward the other end of the alley.

Oh. Right. _A monster in the night_.

Dan was used to people (men, usually) following them for stretches of the walk home, unsolicited questions and offers. The occasional invasion of personal space, threatening and heady. Dan didn’t like that _they_ had to be the one to _get_ _used_ to it, but at least that made it easier. Slightly.

But this time…they weren’t sure what was different, just that it _was_. Different in a far, _far_ worse way. Some hulking shape confronting them, backing them into a dark, small space.

“With the amount of care you took asking this nice lady out on a date, I’m surprised you don’t smell _worse_ ,” came the same voice from before, and Dan jolted out of their daze. Was now really the time for banter?

It was so _dark_ , they couldn’t tell which figures apart, hazy and undefined silhouettes scrambling for purchase, for a good hit. The speed they were moving, the _heights_ they reached, it was all too… _powerful_ , too _much_ to be human.

They should get out of here.

Gunshots echoing along the rough stone walls stopped that plan right in its tracks, as Dan’s thawing panic froze once more in fresh fear.

A bloodcurdling, _otherworldly_ scream gurgled from along the pavement, and one of the shadows slumped to the ground. Dan wasn’t sure who had won. They should really run.

“You—you _killed_ …” was all they managed, cold adrenaline winding its way through their heart, stuttering words and rational thought alike.

With a twirl of the gun, Dan’s unlikely savior (? Gods, they hoped) slipped it into the holster slung along their back. “Trust me, it would’ve killed you and me both if given the chance,” heavy boots clunked along the asphalt, and suddenly there was a hand in front of their face, offering.

Without thinking, Dan reached out to grasp hard leather and metal. Some kind of gauntlet? They were hoisted to their feet without so much as a grunt of effort.

“You gonna be okay getting home?” The question was unexpected, as the stranger looked them up and down for injury. Was that a _sword_ on their back?

“Um…” Dan looked themselves up and down as well, suddenly unsure if their own assessment of _okay_ was accurate anymore. “I think so?”

The stranger cocked their head, “I…hmm.” For the first time, the guy seemed unsure. “I would offer an escort, but only…I understand if you wouldn’t trust me with that,” they finished with a slight grimace, gesturing down at their rather bloody appearance.

“It’s—I’ll be fine, I’m only a few more blocks up the way.”

“Right,” the person nodded, dim street light glinting over… _silver_ hair. Dan’s brow furrowed. “Hey, if you need,” he was patting down his coat, the front and back of his trousers—were those _leather?—_ before pulling out a crumpled square of paper. “That thing I took care of…it’s not the only one. Keep an eye out and let me know.”

Dan took the card, noting the number and…password? They supposed this kind of work was…unconventional. The need to be secretive was to be expected, perhaps.

They mostly just wanted to get home and sleep, but even that was probably unlikely.

“Thanks,” the word was mere formality, slipping out as exhaustion quietly flooded Dan’s body.

“Of course,” they nodded. “Name’s Dante, by the way.”

“Dan…” they replied, blinking slowly.

The stranger cocked an eyebrow, “Dante, yeah.”

“I—what?” Dan squeezed their eyes shut for a moment, sucked in a deep breath. “Sorry, no, _my_ name’s Dan,” they wiped a hand down their face, before realizing with a shudder that their hands had just been touching the grimy street. _Gods_ , they needed to get to bed.

“Take care of yourself, uh, Dan,” Dante still looked confused, from what they could see in the dim light. He nodded, then, turning to leave.

_Before you go--!_ They waved to get Dante’s attention again, “wait, wai—pronouns?”

“Pardon?”

“What pronouns d’you use?” When Dante just blinked at them, Dan took another deep breath. “Like, when you refer to a person with, not their name, but, like, used _instead of_ ,” _fuck_ , now they were just sounding pedantic, “shit, sorry, it’s like _he,_ or _she_ , or _they_.”

“Oh,” was all he said. Dan bit the inside of their cheek. “I guess I use… _he_.”

They nodded, “all right, cool,” that was all they’d wanted to know.

“Seems only right to ask you yours, Dan.” He leaned forward slightly, maybe in an imitation of a bow. One corner of his mouth quirked up.

Right. “Mine are _they, them_ , _theirs_ ,” their eyes hardened with resolve at each word. It was still an ordeal enforcing their pronouns to people they knew and (mostly) trusted _,_ much less complete strangers that seemed completely unfamiliar with the concept.

But maybe they’d taught this Dante guy something new tonight.

He seemed to get it well enough, though, a curious glint in his eyes as he nodded. They thought that was it, until--“sorry, for calling you ‘miss’ before.”

It took a few seconds for the words to register, longer for Dan to put them to a memory. The past few minutes were all kind of a blur of _violence_ and _shadows_. But then Dan was just shrugging, corners of their mouth tight, “It happens.”

“Mmm,” was all he said.

Dan really didn’t want to stand here anymore. “Well, uh, thank you, again. Otherwise I would probably be…yeah. Thanks.”

“Stay safe.” Dante took a few steps backward, offering a two-fingered salute.

“You too,” With a final nod to the man, Dan shuffled to the end of the alley, finally turning onto the larger street, glad to be out in the open again.

\---

Dan woke up the next morning, groggy and dazed.

Work in half an hour, according to their clock. They did the maths in their head, seeing how much longer they could lay here and still make it on time.

Thoughts strayed to last night. It was such a blur that Dan was skeptical most of it had happened. _But the card_ …

With a grunt, Dan rolled out of bed, fumbling with the trousers they’d worn last night, still hung on the back of their chair. The card that guy, Dante, had given them listed a number, a _password…?_ That the guy needed a password still didn’t make a _lot_ of sense, but whatever. Ah. Yeah. An address.

They glanced at the clock and swore. _Can’t be late again_.

Two minutes before their shift started, Dan pushed through the back door of Reynold’s, hanging their bag and clocking in, immediately settling for the day’s shift.

Making pizza wasn’t a huge ordeal, and now that they’d been at it for a while, it didn’t take much thought energy anymore either. Working in the kitchen was easy; you get the order, you make it, fast as you could. Most customers weren’t picky, and Dan didn’t even have to talk to them. They’d heard enough horror stories from the front of house staff, thank you very much.

Getting a good amount of food at the end of each shift wasn’t too bad, either.

They didn’t have nearly enough hours, but they got by.

It turned out the address for that Dante guy’s place was on a side street just off of Dan’s route to work. Changing back into their normal clothes in the employee bathroom, they set off with that night’s pizza straight to the so-called _Devil May Cry_.

It looked like a public establishment, but the thought of just _walking_ _in_ was…ugh. Either way, they knocked first, eyeing the flicker of the neon sign and its scrawling font. The place looked worse for wear, foundation more patched than original and half the windows boarded with plywood. Did this Dante guy do most of his demon hunting _in_ his office?

Before their thoughts could travel further, the door was opening to reveal the man himself: red coat, black v-neck, leather trousers and all.

His knit brow relaxed the second he recognized Dan. “You don’t have to knock,” was the first thing he said, mouth settling into a smirk.

Dan only shrugged, “it’s what I do,” earning a raised eyebrow. And now that they’d stabbed the conversation with a blunt knife, they cleared their throat and said, “I, uh, wanted to say thanks, for last night,” they held up the pizza box. “With food.” As if clarifying it like _that_ would make Dan feel less awkward.

He glanced between Dan and the box once, twice, before narrowing his eyes at them. “You didn’t…have to?”

Dan shrugged again.

“Okay,” he tentatively took the box as they offered it to him, “thank you.” He glanced behind him before jerking his head back, “come on in.” And he turned to go inside.

Dan hesitated, but Dante continued without breaking his stride, “if you want. Just thought I’d share.”

And after not _nearly_ enough time deliberating, they followed him through the door.

The space inside was, somehow, more beat-up than the exterior. _Not to mention_ , Dan’s eyes widened as they took in the walls, _he collects demon trophies, of course he does_.

They supposed it was a bit of a different dynamic from big game hunting, but seeing mounted heads always sent uneasy signals through Dan’s brain.

There were obvious patch jobs on the floor, though, a beat-up ceiling fan that wobbled dangerously with every cycle, and a jukebox that was so dented it was a wonder its interior lights were _only_ flickering.

Dante had tossed the pizza box onto the desk near the end of the room, opposite the front door. It looked sturdy enough, though deep gouges lined every surface. The demon hunter himself sat in the chair behind it, crossing his feet up on the desk.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he spread his arms out in a broad gesture. _Humble, indeed_ , Dan didn’t say out loud. Not that most places in this area were much better. Their own flat could use a lot of fixing.

“Thank you kindly,” they mumbled, still glancing around the place, before deciding to settle on the arm of a couch along the adjacent wall. The mounted demon heads loomed above, never letting Dan forget their presence.

The next time Dan caught Dante’s eye, he gestured toward the box, already holding a half-eaten slice. “Could never say no to pizza. And this doesn’t even have olives,” he gave the tips of his fingers a kiss before finishing the slice.

“S’nothing wrong with olives,” Dan smiled, “one of my favorite foods,” his scandalized gasp had them laughing. “Guessed lucky for you this time, then.” They filed that preference away in their brain, though.

“Olive opinions are incredibly important to my friendships,” he pointed a finger at them, as if giving a lecture. Maybe Dan ought to have been taking notes.

“Well, I sure have opinions about them,” they shrugged, mouth curling in a smile before they even finished the joke, “so what’s the problem?”

He groaned, turning the pizza box away from them, “no more for you.”

Dan rolled their eyes, “Oh _nooo_.”

The banter settled them into comfortable silence, as Dan kept looking around the place, only in short glances. Dante didn’t seem to be paying much attention to them, but they didn’t want to be too obvious.

“Questions are free,” his voice startled them into looking over, but Dante was still focused on something on his desk. “Demons, work, weapons, favorite soap operas, et cetera, et cetera,” he waved his hand in a lazy circle. “Lady tells me I love talking about myself too much, so hey. At least today I have a captive audience.”

“Lady?”

“F—co-worker,” he had been about to call her something else, but thought better of it. Dan straightened their posture, deciding not to ask too many more. Now that they were on the spot, they couldn’t really think of any questions. At least, not any that didn’t feel silly, or obvious.

“I think I should be getting back before it’s too late,” Dan stood up from the arm of the couch. “Don’t need to bother you with needing to save me every night.”

“If it means more pizza for--!” He called after them as the door swung shut, the interruption of his attempt at a last word almost beautifully comical.


	2. Questions and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Workplace frustrations and slowly getting to know the Dante guy

The blinking cursor mocked them from the computer screen.

Getting job applications done should be _easy_ by now, considering how many they’d already put in.

Dan sighed and sat back with the heels of their hands pressed hard into their eyes, before taking a glance around the library. It was nearly closing time, and the last few people were getting up to put their books back or check them out.

_Ten more minutes on this, then you can stop for the day_ , they told themselves, as if this kind of bargaining with their brain would work.

Nevertheless, they sent out two more applications for odd jobs around the city before the fifteen-minute warning for closing rang through the library.

They were typing _Devil May Cry_ into the search engine before any coherent thought could stop them, and…

Aside from a single one-star review regarding the crummy state of the address, there was nothing. No website, no other information on other websites. After the first few results were a bunch of quotes from various literature. Nothing new, then. 

They ought to call it a night.

Dan may as well ask around.

They settled on casually bringing it up, in case believing in demons and talking to shady guys in borderline-dilapidated buildings were things that would make Dan’s coworkers uncomfortable—or worse, concerned.

Talking to the more chill guys was a better idea, they didn’t ask invasive questions and thought Dan was weird anyway. Asking about strange shops and stories would be the norm for them.

“You know that place, a few blocks from here? It’s got a…a _weird_ name, I think. Dem—Devil Cry, something. Big neon sign? I think?” Dan feigned forgetfulness. “Is that like a bar, or something?”

Adam looked up from his cutting board, staring at a point at the wall, “I _know_ I know what you’re talking about, but I’ve only ever walked by it at night, when I was heading somewhere. I’ve never heard anyone talk about it, though. No clue what it is.”

Dylan heard the question when he was headed into the walk-in fridge, and he returned saying, “My sister said she heard the guy there was some weird bounty hunter.”

_Not quite wrong_ , Dan schooled their face into a thoughtful frown. “In this part of town? Who has bounties anymore?” Adam let out a chuckle, and Dylan only shrugged before disappearing back around the corner.

They contemplated asking their shift manager, who was all in all a cool lady, but they also didn’t have a good enough opening to bring it up. Dan could imagine it now: _“don’t get too distracted from prep, Da—_ ” they frowned. It didn’t matter too much, really.

Dan’s deadname screeched like a chalkboard as Taylor tossed it out. “You were asking about that _Devil May Cry_ place?” The man didn’t exactly _corner_ them at the sink by the ovens, but it was a near thing. “Scary part of town, isn’t it?”

Something cold settled in Dan’s stomach, shooting up their spine, but they raised an eyebrow with a laugh, “It’s Dan, Taylor. And the place is only a few blocks away, so I guess _we’re_ in that ‘ _scary_ part of town’ too.”

Taylor didn’t seem fazed by the correction _or_ the hostility, barreling onward like usual. “Yeah, no place for a girl like you. Heard the guy that works there has a violent streak.” While Dan couldn’t deny the _violent_ comment, they knew well enough that the _streak_ was toward a very specific target.

“That’s a shame to hear,” they said, edging away to find something else to do, away from Taylor.

“If you ever need someone else with you walking home, especially at night…” he eyed them, trailing off suggestively.

“I’ll let them know what you look like so they can be on guard,” Dan shot him a bitter smile before pushing out the door and making their way up the street.

Three days later, they clocked out from late shift and headed out to _Devil May Cry_ , pizza in hand.

They knocked again, before opening the door and heading in.

Dante raised an eyebrow from behind his desk, “yo.”

“I figured out some questions I wanted to ask.” They shook the pizza box, “no olives.”

He leaned back in his chair and _thunk_ ed his boots onto the rough wood. “For pizza? I’d do way more than that,” after shooting a wink at them to little reaction (Dan hoped they weren’t blushing, anyway), he just shook his head and smiled.

Dan fought their own grin and managed to say, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Excellent,” he slapped his hands on his thighs, “this font of knowledge is flowing.”

Even he couldn’t keep it together for _that_ innuendo.

After they’d set the pizza box on the desk, Dan settled in their previous seat on the arm of the couch. Once again, all scripted questions they’d put together in their head had flown out in the face of the demon hunter himself. “Hot seat,” they mumbled. “Um,” Dan rubbed at the back of their neck, “demons?”

Dante cocked his head, quiet. Probably waiting for them to elaborate. After a moment, he prompted, “yeah?”

“They’re real?”

“…Yeah?”

“Sorry, it’s, um, hmm.” _I want to take this seriously but that night we met was the first and only time I’d ever seen or even heard of living and dangerous demons and it was dark and there were guns and_ —“Still processing.”

“Take your time, I’m here all night,” he waggled his eyebrows. Dan rolled their eyes.

“How long have you been hunting demons?”

“Whole life, pretty much,” he stuck a finger into his mouth, scratching at some food stuck in his teeth. “Officially, to pay the bills? About fifteen years, now.”

Fifteen years? He looked like he was barely thirty. Dan’s eyes narrowed, briefly, before they were asking, “where do they—demons, where do _demons_ —come from?”

“Hell.”

The blunt answer was equal parts unexpected and obvious. “Like, Christian Hell?”

“Nah, no afterlife shtick. You could go there now, if you wanted,” he coughed, “I wouldn’t suggest it. One Hell definitely inspired the other, though. Won’t tell you which,” he gave them a wink, “it’s a surprise.”

Dan figured the one that was proven to exist had marginally better chances.

“There are other demon hunters?”

He leaned back, savoring a slice of pizza, before kicking off the desk to spin in his chair. “Plenty. All sorts, here and there, some better than others. Don’t like to toot my own horn, but I’m one of the best.”

Dan had pretty limited experience with any demons and hunters at all, but from what they _had_ seen, the guy knew his way around the business. And the battlefield. He seemed able to cut through the bullshit, so to speak. Yet somehow, he managed to turn around in the same moment and act like an aloof _child_.

When you hunted deadly demons for a living, Dan supposed you expressed yourself in whatever way kept you alive and relatively sane.

So they nodded and said, “good to know.” They hoped it sounded sincere. Dante probably didn’t care too much.

The silence stretched on for a moment, taut with Dan’s anxiety, before they heard, “the gears in your head are _noisy_ , kid. Let it out.”

“Will this hap—should I learn—” they stopped to take a breath, running through ways to frame the question. “How—how often does this happen?” They managed, eyes boring holes into the phone on Dante’s desk.

“It’s not likely, kid. Most people won’t run into a demon in their lives, unless they’re looking for one.”

“Like…” Dan gestured around the office, earning a chuckle from the devil hunter. They frowned, “I just got unlucky, then?”

“Well,” Dante’s face twisted into a grimace, then, and he reached up to give his collar a slight tug, “this city’s kind of…an outlier, you might say.”

“Oh,” their voice was thick, “great.”

“It’s still not likely. But hey,” he waved at them, before pointing at the smug grin on his face, “this guy’s the best protection you could ask for.”

And Dan supposed they had enough proof to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This still feels like a weird bumpy start to the fic, but I'll probably feel that way about the entire thing as I go along.  
> I'm just trying to fill out the interactions because that's where the trust builds and the character develops and interacts and it just makes me want to keep writing forever and not post anything


	3. A Mutual Dislike of Poker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midday visits bring unexpected meetings. Dan doesn't appreciate the amount of nervous sweating it took, but they think it ended up okay.

But life, as it does, kept going. They went to work the next day as usual, chopped meat and vegetables and mixed sauces as usual, and avoided any and all attention from their coworkers. Like usual.

With no desire to hang out with Taylor, Dylan, and Connor’s shit attitudes and shittier jokes on their break between shifts, Dan pushed out the kitchen door into the brisk midday. They were thinking more about _leaving_ work rather than _going_ somewhere else, but soon enough they were pushing through the doors of Devil May Cry.

“Hey, Dante, I know it’s not nighttime, but you’re good company, and…” Dan stopped as they noticed the person lounging over the desk.

It was not Dante.

Most of Dan’s coherent thought went out the window as they took in the slim figure’s tight leather bodice and trousers, long blonde hair thankfully covering most of what the top didn’t.

“He ordered pizza? Awesome,” before Dan could blink, the person had already slinked up to them and divested the box from their hands, settling back on the desk with a…sinuous grace. Dan was still fighting back the _blush_ that they definitely had over how… _pretty_ this stranger was.

“Um,” they said. “I’m Dan.”

The person stopped in the middle of eating their slice of pizza to fix Dan with a look. “Hello, Dan.”

“You, uh, you know Dante?” The stranger seemed pretty… _comfortable,_ in the office. Dan felt a pit begin to grow in their stomach, trying to remember the co-worker Dante had named…

Lady, was it?

“Yeah,” they resumed eating, then. Dan tensed to keep the shiver from running up their spine.

“Uh, hi,” they said again. “Is—” they stopped, before the question could leave their mouth, remembering, “what’s your name?”

They stopped again, and Dan was getting an overwhelming aura of _bored_ from this person. “It’s Trish.”

“Hi, Trish, uh, I’m not a wom—I am, um, my pronouns are they and them. What are yours?”

Trish quirked an eyebrow, skepticism evident on her face, “she, I guess. So, _you_ know Dante?”

Dan felt a hot spear of _danger_ shoot through them. The fight or flight response made their heart pound in their ears. “He…helped me out a few weeks ago.” _Not a good enough answer_ , some voice in the back of their head said. Dan tried not to scowl.

“Ah.” She smirked, before leaning back to stretch out over the desk again.

Dan stood still for a moment, trying not to run out the door. The initial burst of fear was burning away, now, and suddenly the question popped into their head: “you didn’t have any money to pay me?”

Her head snaked back a bit, “no?” She sounded like she was holding back a laugh.

She assumed Dante had ordered pizza, but never mentioned money, which suggested this was a regular thing, so the natural conclusion Dan came to was, “does he normally just…not pay for his pizza order?”

Trish barked out a laugh at their implication. “He’s got an… _agreement_ , sorted out. More like an infinite tab. Good luck trying to collect.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” The man himself appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a hand to his chest in shock. “Getting on my good side to make me pay off my pizza debts?”

Dan crossed their arms before reaching up to pinch the bridge of their nose. “You caught me,” they deadpanned. Giving him _free pizza_ was the most intuitive thing Reynold’s could come up with.

He gasped, “I should have known better!” His voice hitched into a falsetto as he swept down the stairs and over to the desk, swiping the box as he slid past.

“It’s good stuff, kid,” Trish raised her half-eaten slice to them, “could use some olives though,” she shot a wicked grin to Dante.

One which Dan matched almost immediately, “that’s what I was thinking, too!” Now that a familiar face was here, the tension in their shoulders eased out. Trish certainly could counter Dante in the banter department, which immediately lessened the weight in Dan’s stomach.

Dante sank onto the couch, cradling the box of pizza, “neither of you get any more, with all your talk of _violating_ my food.”

It was brief, really, the glance Dan stole toward Trish to gauge a reaction to their presence, but they could have sworn she sent a wink their way in the split second they were looking at her. Heat prickled at the back of their neck.

“Um, I should, I have to go.” they mumbled, “work, and all that.”

“Good to meet you, Danny,” Trish’s whole fluttering finger-wave was _not_ helping.

“What? Already?” Dante said through a mouthful of pizza. “You’re not even gonna try to collect my debts?”

Trish scoffed, “can it, Sparda,” a pen flew square into his nose, “you’re supposed to be _good company_.”

He sat up, hands clapping on his knees, “I _am_ good company! We can totally hang out and, do,” he paused, glancing around the shop, “do something. Hey, du-Dan, what do you want to do?”

_Don’t put this on me!_ This must be what deer in headlights felt like. “I, uh…”

“ _Cards_ , maybe,” Trish drawled, and suddenly, Dante’s hand flicked up to catch something faster than Dan could follow. They could parse what the shiver it sent up their spine meant _later_.

It was apparently a pack of cards. Idly shuffling them in his hands, Dante quirked an eyebrow, “you like poker?” At Dan’s grimace, he said, “good, me neither,” he deftly split the deck in two, passing one over to them and settling on the ground in front of the couch.

The next hour was spent playing several rounds of War, every few runs punctuated by an abysmal attempt of sleight-of-hand from Dante.

They both agreed wins and losses were split evenly between them. Dan would dare to say they were nearly _relaxed_ by the end of it.

A feeling that, of course, was cut short by an alarm from their back pocket.

“That’s me, probably,” Dan stood up, legs stiff from sitting for so long. “Work time,” they sing-songed, rolling their eyes.

“Ooo, careful,” he warned, “don’t go having too much fun now,” Dante was flipping the deck back and forth in his hands, each spray of cards landing neatly in each palm.

“I’ll try not to, for you,” the line slipped out, simple reflex, and Dan didn’t even have time to be embarrassed as Dante clicked his tongue and winked at them. A thought occurred to them, then, and they pointed at their new card-playing partner, saying with as much conviction as they could muster, “don’t pay back your pizza debt.”

He blinked, gears shifting in his head as the words processed, before an undeniably _devilish_ grin spread across his face.

Trish was still sitting at the desk, idly reading one of the many magazines Dante seemed to keep there. She simply held up a hand in good-bye as Dan made their way to the entrance.

Just as they opened the door into the street a chorus of familiar voices echoed up the road. Connor and Taylor were sauntering along the sidewalk opposite them, laughing and nudging at each other. Dan backed up, pulling the door nearly shut. Hopefully those two hadn’t noticed…

“Forget something?” Dante called from his desk, sensing their hesitation.

Dan was silent for a few more seconds, until their coworkers turned out of sight around the street corner. They let out a slow breath, “nah, sorry. Just some…it’s no big deal.” He didn’t need to know. “See you later, huh?” They were shutting the door before he could respond.

They took their time before heading back in for second shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just slapping my keyboard n tryna have a good time right now


	4. Unhealthy Manifestation of Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan's coworkers are ineffective at best, and social drinking just doesn't go so well.

A mix of front and back of house staff were heading out for drinks after work, Carrie informed Dan when they clocked out later that evening. After a moment of deliberating, they realized they were feeling energetic enough for a night out. It had been a while; they deserved a bit of fun.

The meeting place was settled, and Carrie agreed to text them when more than one person was there.

“Here’s Kevin and Amy,” Adam introduced Dan to the unfamiliar faces gathered in the booth in the corner of Max’s, one of the two local bars that Dan didn’t hate. Being alone in public, and desperately trying and failing to look masc? Usually attracted attention Dan would rather avoid.

“Hey,” they smiled and waved, setting their jacket down in the seat next to Adam’s and walking to the bar to order the cheapest beer listed on the wall.

Taking a few long swigs as they sat down, Dan tried to chip into the main conversation whenever they saw a chance. Most of them were talking about some shit that one of the front of house employees pulled last week, but Adam and Connor were at least discussing a recent comic release that Dan had read. They managed a few quips here and there.

“Hey guys!” Taylor’s voice made Dan’s mouth reflexively turn down into a grimace, along with the settled weight of beer in their stomach. The night was just becoming more and more of a regrettable experience already.

A couple hours passed in a daze; Dan’s mind was somewhere else most of the time, if only to stave off the discomfort of Taylor’s _looks_ and, funnily enough, the _vibe_ that new guy Kevin was giving off.

Until Taylor was saying their deadname like a punch to their heart and then, “yeah, hanging out with that guy who works that bounty-hunting place. The one who’ll ‘take any dirty job,’ and all that.”

Suddenly the eyes of everyone at the table were locked on Dan. Amy leaned forward to place crossed arms on the table, Adam drummed his fingers along its edge, avoiding eye contact. 

Kevin spoke first, “I’ve heard the guy’s got a shady reputation, sure you wanna go buddy-buddy with someone like that?”

Dan bit back a retort, _I’ve known him longer than I’ve known you, my guy_ , but instead settled into feigned confusion. “Mike Rowe’s moved into the hood? Surprised I didn’t hear about it ‘til now.” Adam let out a quiet snort, while everyone else rolled their eyes with a groan.

Taylor, though, _had_ to keep pushing. “Whatever—” Dan grit their teeth at their _imbecile_ of a coworker. No one bat an eye as he tossed out their deadname, even Adam. He barreled on without a thought, “I heard you asking around about him, and saw you _visiting_ —” he _what?_

Something burned through Dan’s gut as they set their glass down on the table with a measured finality. “Maybe you should be more worried about being an _asshole creep_ than about where I spend my time, dipshit,” they hissed. The scoot of their stool echoed loudly as Dan slipped through the pub, throwing down a few bills on the bar as they passed.

Dan couldn’t shake the frustrating tenseness at the base of their spine as they slipped through the streets home. Out of the corner of their eye, the glow of _Devil May Cry_ in all its flickering neon made them pause at the intersection.

Shutting the door behind them with a _squeak_ , Dan tossed their shucked jacket through the bedroom doorway before walking into the cramped kitchen for a drink.

If they’d cracked open the bottle of cider a second later, they would have missed the _snick_ of the front door closing again. Cold shot through their chest.

Dan shifted away from the kitchen doorway, feeling the familiar aura settle around them. Straining their ears, refusing to even breathe, a hint of a whisper made its way to them, “ _hello?”_ They weren’t even sure it was spoken, but Dan couldn’t take any chances.

_Shit_.

“ **Daaan…?** ” A voice called, closer now. But…Dan had heard it before, earlier that night. The girl they’d met at the bar—Amy. She was here? Why was she here? _How_ was she here?

The impression they’d got of the girl that night began wrestling with the current reality. She had been unassuming, quiet. Funny, even. Pretty enough that Dan almost entertained the thought of flirting.

But what should they do? Something was _tearing through their apartment_.

The voice gave way to wet rasping of breathing through the cramped halls, and brought Dan out of their daze. No time to freeze—they had to _run_. The window was barred, the front door was a ways away, hallway’s full of _demon_ , and _confrontation was definite death._

It was getting closer, louder, an aura pulsing through the space that had Dan clapping one hand over their mouth and the other slowly reaching for the pantry door. Hiding, hiding was _something_.

Squeezing into the shallow space and closing the door behind them, Dan pressed against the cramped shelves, sending a quick prayer of thanks to _someone_ at how sparse they kept it. Their eyes were stinging, every breath felt more laborious than the last. There wasn’t anything else they could do. What else could there be?

A brief moment of inspiration thawed the ice in Dan’s chest. The card. _The card_.

On a whim, or some beautiful twist of fate, Dan had slipped it into the back pocket of their trousers that morning. It had become an impromptu good luck charm, since that night, was how they justified it.

The dial tone stretched into what felt like eternity, until the familiar voice was drawling, “ _Devil May Cry, what d’ya need?”_

“My fr—someone’s here, _fuck--!”_ Dan fumbled with the card in their hand, whispering out the password, “they just—turned into something like…like from a few nights ago,” a crash from the main room had them flinching, letting out a short gasp, shrinking back further against the hard lines of wood shelving. _Fuck_ , they were _so fucked_.

There was only a wobbly door in between them and the demon, and it wouldn’t take long for it to figure out where they were hiding. Dante himself had mentioned their sense of smell, the demon _knew_. Must have some sick sense of humor, playing with its food. Victim. Whatever.

A long, drawn-out moment of static in one ear and deafening silence in the other, before…

“’Kay,” was all Dante said, and he hung up the phone with a click.

All they could hope for now was that the demon liked to spend time playing with its victims.

Their teeth clenched with every breath Dan let out, _one, two_ , hoping it was as silent as they thought it sounded.

On their third deep breath, though, came a _crash_ , barely muffled through the thin door of the closet.

“Good ol’ B and E, huh? Not very romantic, I have to say,” Dante’s quip bled through the door, as did the responding shriek of the demon, all pretense of _human_ having vanished.

One crash, then another, and then what sounded like a landslide echoed through the flat, and Dan might have felt curious about what it looked like if their every thought weren’t frozen in fear.

There was a wet _thunk_ from just outside the door, and a sickening screech that immediately cut into a choked gurgle.

_Move_ , Dan supplied to their legs, _you need to move, to get_ out _of here_. Their left foot shuffled forward, then their right, and eventually began to settle their weight back on their feet, only now noticing how heavily they leaned on the back of the pantry.

Their elbow slipped to bang against a shelf as they took step after trembling step to open the door. Their first attempt at speaking stuck in their throat, while the second slipped out as a hoarse, “Dante?”

“Hey,” his voice came from the kitchen, and Dan saw his shadow moving down on the floor. They turned the knob and gave the door a push, letting it swing out to reveal the man himself.

He looked…only slightly rumpled, considering the circumstances. It took Dan a moment to zero in on the long sword stretching from his hand, covered in…blood? They blinked, breathed in. Breathed out.

Slowly, his hand came up and gave them a little wave. “Hey,” he said again, “you hurt at all?”

Dan went to speak, only to discover their voice had stopped working again. They settled for a slight shake of their head _no_.

“Good to hear,” he snuck a glance, presumably to the hallway, “you might not, uh, want to see…things. You got stuff to pack a bag somewhere?”

Dan coughed, “I, yeah,” they agreed without thinking, stepping all the way out of the pantry and shutting its door. They heard the hiss of Dante breathing through clenched teeth just as they turned to survey the carnage.

All of the walls of the kitchen were torn to shreds, exposed stud and ventilation pipes creaking dangerously. The door to the kitchen was knocked out, and lay broken in half on the remains of the dining table. A dark liquid was oozing slowly across the kitchen floor from beneath the splintered wood and linoleum. Dan swallowed, shuffling to see the damage done to the hallway—over half the stud beams neatly cut in half, water flowing steadily out of the pipes he’d hit. “Oh,” they breathed.

“Those—hm, uh--those weren’t load-bearing, right?” Dante quipped behind them. They heard him shift, turning to see him sheathing the giant sword into a— _guitar case?—_ on his back.

“I think you…missed most of…” Dan couldn’t match even the half-hearted attempt at humor, and their knees suddenly felt _very weak._

“Whoa, whoa whoa, hey, hey Dan,” a blurry Dante appeared in their vision, which meant that their vision had stopped working for a bit, which… _huh, never fainted before_ , came their first thought. “Breathe, kid,” his hands were warm around their upper arms. “C’mon, let’s sit you down,” and he lowered them both to the floor with ease, settling Dan against the wall.

_Breathe_. “’ve ne…never fain’d before,” Dan’s shallow breathing aspirated every syllable, and their weak laughter didn’t help the tunnel vision.

“Bunch of new experiences tonight, huh?” His playing along sounded strained. They could imagine his furrowed brow.

Maybe Lamaze breathing would work. “I, um, I have a bag just in my bedroom, I can get some—?” even trying to get up caused another wave of dizziness, but Dante caught their arm, hoisting them to their feet.

Cycling through a cobbled list with each breath, they managed to flop some clothes and toiletries into a pile on top of a backpack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot I wanted to rewrite on this but it's quarantine, I'm Feeling Things, and I need to express it through posting more because I need to work on something!! The ending is a bit...Abrupt? But it's a cut from one scene of relief into another safe scene, things are fine. Dante is a good person in this. The title of the chapter is referring to the creeps at the beginning, in the bar scene. Hope you all are staying as safe as you can!


	5. Stability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> raise some questions, and answer others. Focus on the future.

“We have _got_ to stop meeting like this,” He went for the joking line, but it quickly grew stale in the silence. He stood leaned against his desk, arms folded tightly across his chest.

Dan just focused on the holes in the drywall across the room. The entire night had been an _ordeal_ , to say the least. A buzzing had started in their ears when they started packing some clothes and toiletries, and hadn’t stopped since. Finally, they managed to mumble, “I’m so fucking _stupid_.”

“Wanting to go out isn’t stupid.”

“With a bunch of people I barely _know_ , much less trust.” The memory of Adam avoiding their gaze after Taylor’s _display_ made Dan’s blood boil.

“Yeah, and you know that well enough to handle yourself.”

“I managed to spend an entire night out drinking, with a _demon_.”

“And I’ve known hunters that were fooled by worse,” he didn’t seem the type to make excuses for people, so the strange, not-quite-backhanded compliments were throwing Dan for a loop.

“There were plenty of people around that night, who thought they were friends, who don’t even know demons exist—who wouldn’t have even seen them _coming_.”

He just nodded, his pacing slowing into languid strides. “And it went after _you_ , that’s…” he stopped, turning to fix them with a look, “no coincidence.”

“What?” _Why_ _would…?_ Dan shook their head, “what do demons go after? What do I have that would make them go after _me?_ ”

His brow furrowed at that, “your connection to me, probably.” So it was _his_ involvement with _them_ that had...

It didn’t seem…like _enough_. “But that’s hardly a connection. You were doing your job, I was just…standing nearby.”

“Reason enough,” his words cut through their doubts, “doesn’t have to be the truth, just has to look enough like it. I’ve seen humans kill for less.”

All right, _that_ was a whole other can of worms that Dan could avoid opening. _Still._ “But no one else was there to see us together, that first time!” _Save for a dead demon._ “How would they…how would they know?”

“You know that song, _Heard It Through The Grapevine_?” He snapped his fingers to a silent groove for a minute, swaying his hips to the beat with a hint of a smile, “like that.” If it was an attempt at levity, it hadn’t worked very well.

“Well then…does that mean it’ll probably happen again?” Dan’s gaze fell to their feet, “I mean, this quality time we’re spending together is just more incriminating, now.”

Dante sighed, running a hand through his silver hair, gleaming even in the low light. “Ugh, I dunno. There isn’t really anyone else around to keep watch…teaching _you_ to defend yourself _…_ ” he leaned his head back, letting out another sigh.

“Not to mention,” Dan fidgeted with the pockets of their trousers, “my place is kind of busted right now…”

They really hadn’t wanted to bring it up, and this point in the conversation seemed especially bad, but Dan was _technically homeless_ now. “Oh, fuck.” The words slipped out, because really, _oh, fuck, they’d just put it into words._ Curling forward, they put their head between their knees, hands threading through the mop of hair on top of their head. “ _Shit, shit, shit, shit…”_

_They didn’t have anywhere._

And then Dante was squatting in front of them, hand on their shoulder to push them back into a sitting position. “Hey, s’all right, man—dude. Yo,” his fumble with colloquial _gender terms_ earning a wet snort from Dan (shit, they were _crying_ ). Instinctively, their hands went up to cover their face, but Dante didn’t seem to mind. “You’ll find a place. I mean, I would offer you the spare room for however long you need, but Lady calls it ‘a fucking shithole’ every time she drops by, and,” he stopped, blinked, and cocked his head, “what are you looking at me that way for?”

‘That way’ must have been ‘like Dante hangs the stars in the sky.’ “Are you serious?” Dan was _really_ crying, now, heavy tears rolling nonstop down their cheeks.

“What? That you can stay? I mean, I _did_ destroy your apartment, and demons _did_ attack you to get to me,” a sheepish smile pulled at his mouth, “and you keep giving me pizza.”

Of all things he’d said, the last one was what did them in, shoulders hunching as sobs wracked through their frame. “ _Fuck,_ ” Dan couldn’t seem to find any other words but that.

“What’s the problem?” Dante seemed at a loss for what else to do.

“You…” why’d he have to bring up the _pizza?_ “You have such fucking _low standards_ ,” and like that, Dan couldn’t distinguish between their laughing and sobbing. “Gods, I’m a mess.”

Dante’s mouth curved in an exaggerated frown before he stood up once more to plant his hands on his hips. “I have impeccable standards, like ‘feeds me pizza.’”

Dan let out another ugly snort. They were really fucking up this ‘thankful’ shtick. “Well, I’d…if you say it’s cool, then I’d like to stay here for a while.” _At least until I settle all the bullshit with my former flat. Might as well keep giving him food, too._

“Done,” was all he said, reaching out to give Dan’s head a gentle pat. Their mind was already racing with how to move their stuff, but then Dante just said, “first thing tomorrow, getting all your shit. Right now I need to _bathe,_ ” his hand then moved to pat their knee and he walked upstairs.

Huh.

Dan sat in silence for a while, before the thought of being alone with a bunch of stuffed demon trophies unnerved them enough to stand and follow Dante to the upper floor. They could hear the shower behind one closed door, and saw three more lining the hallway. They opened each door to Dante’s room, a fairly cluttered spare room, and the last…was locked.

They figured it could be on a need-to-know basis.

At least they’d done a few carpentry projects in their time. Fixing up the stud and drywall would be a breeze for them. Even if Dante insisted right now that it wasn’t a big deal, Dan would figure out some ways to be useful around the place. Even if only to keep their own mind occupied.

After several minutes of listening, Dan figured Dante wouldn’t be ending his shower anytime soon. Kitchen sink bath, it was.

With a few damp paper towels, they rubbed as much of the sweat and (thankfully) minimal demon grime off their arms, legs, and face as they could. Fitting their head under the faucet was an ordeal, but they managed. Thank goodness their hair was short enough to dry fast.

Heading back up to the spare room— _Dante_ still _wasn’t done in the shower_ —Dan moved all the clutter covering the bed onto the floor. Hmm. At least the bedspread wasn’t dusty; maybe one of Dante’s coworkers had crashed here recently.

Dan caught their hands shaking as they moved to shuck that night’s outfit. It took a more minutes and several more deep breaths than usual to put on bedclothes, but once they were in bed, the thoughts that usually rushed to nitpick every moment of their day managed to hone completely in on this fact: tonight, because of Dante, they were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has been mostly written for a while but I've been busy and also an executive dysfunctioning wreck, but here it is! A built up jumping-off point. Things are progressing! Yay!


	6. A Semblance of Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settling in the whole routine. Dan's not great at conversations, but something wound tight is bound to loosen up in humour (and desperation)

Dan decided they couldn’t reliably make light of their situation enough to bring it up at work.

So they didn’t.

Adam had spectacularly failed any modicum of trust Dan had had in him, so the guilty looks he kept shooting them gave them little bit of confidence. Even Taylor was giving them a wider berth, but Dan could hear his loud proclamations and definitely deliberate use of their deadname even on the other side of the kitchen partition. God, what a fuckhead.

It took a few more hours of ignoring the concerned looks their manager kept holding toward their disheveled state, but Dan managed to get through the shift just fine otherwise. If they were more subdued than usual, no one would notice, much less care.

They shuffled out of the shift with a quick, “bye,” and walked to the intersection that split the ways to their flat and _Devil May Cry_. Taking a quick glance around the street, they skipped across the street and jogged the rest of the way into the shop. Only when the door clicked shut behind them did Dan let themselves breath deep.

“You wanna talk about it?” They jerked into attentive posture again at Dante’s voice. When they didn’t answer ( _didn’t register the question yet_ ) Dante prompted, “talk about it more, I mean?”

They blinked, “ah, right, uh,” they didn’t want to say the honest thing of _I got the vibe that you hated talking things out_ , so the response was, “I’ll be fine eventually.”

He simply raised an eyebrow. Dan winced, “I mean, there isn’t really much to talk about that you don’t already know,” the eyebrow went higher, “demons, following me to get to you? Destroying my apartment? Hell is real?”

“What?” He blinked, “no, not what I—that’s not what’s bothering you,” he gestured past them, in the vague direction of…oh. Reynold’s. “I—sorry, none of my business,” he backtracked.

“Oh, oh, I. Um. I’m just…I’m used to it,” they lied.

“Uh-huh, I bet.”

“I’ll be fine!” They repeated, and then added a quiet, “…eventually.”

“If you keep working there, probably not,” his statement was met with only a stare. “Come on, dude—Dan, it’s not hard to tell something there is messing with you. Not just in a harmless fun way, either.”

It was another moment before their shoulders sunk. “Asshole coworkers,” Dan rolled their eyes, hating the sting starting to prick at the corners.

“You able to deal with them?”

“Don’t take me seriously enough for any ‘dealing’ to happen,” Dan mumbled.

“Hmm,” was all he said.

“I know—Dante,” they didn’t know him very well yet, but there was a look in his eye that suggested _mischief_ , “look, I know you’re probably not going to do anything, but _don’t_ ,” they raised a finger to point at him, wincing as it shook, “do anything.” They weren’t even sure _what_ kind of _anything_ Dante could possibly do to prevent any and all future mishaps with Taylor or his shitty friends, but…

He put up both hands, “they hate me there too, you already know. Just…I mean, if you need any tips on defending yourse--?”

Dan was shaking their head before he’d even finished, “no, no thanks, I know enough to get by, thanks.”

“All the respect to you in the world, Dan, but you freeze like a squirrel in headlights the minute there are, y’know, headlights,” they narrowed their eyes. “You’re smart, kid, but fighting instinct takes practice you have not had.”

They took a deep breath. “Yeah, but these are _people_ , not _demons_.” Dan _really_ didn’t like the sinking feeling in the pit of their stomach that _he was right_. “I’ve done it before.”

“People can be dangerous! Getting shot sucks! And we still don’t know for sure why demons are after you, or if you’re out of their crosshairs, so defending yourself is two birds with one stone,” he hummed and scratched at his cheek, leaning dangerously far back in his chair. “I could do training,” he muttered, “I mean, I’m probably a shit teacher, I think, I just…”

“Dante, I, um,” Dan scrunched their brow up, unsure what they were feeling, unsure what they wanted to say—Grateful? Dread? Doubt? “I really appreciate it, what you’re—offering? What you’re offering,” they continued at his waggling eyebrows of confirmation. “I don’t—think I’m cut out for that kind of…stuff.”

“No doubts yet! You’re too old for doubts.” He clapped his hands. “Let’s start at twice a week. Basics of the basics.”

“I haven’t even said _yes_ —”

“Company outing.”

“I don’t _work_ here??” Dan was rapidly losing momentum, fighting the last vestiges of their immediate doubts. _Dante is right. Holding your own is important._ Their jaw clenched as the final reminder of _there are demons_ rang through their skull. “Okay!” They shouted, before Dante could say something weird like, ‘you’re hired, then!’ “Let’s, fight. Sometimes.”

Dante grinned. “No one’s gonna fuck with you again.”

The apparent reliance Dante had on solving things through fighting managed to avoid Dan’s worry. “Cool. I have asthma, just so you know. So like, be nice to me. At least for a little while.” 

“I mean, like, if you wanted a gun or something, I can help you with that too. Or a knife.” They stared at him, and he seemed to falter. _He was serious?_ “I think I’m out of swords in your size, but--!” They put up a hand.

“I—thanks? Thanks, I think. Um, I’ll…” the word _demons_ floated across their mind, and their aversion to using weapons crumbled just slightly, “I’ll get back to you on that.”

His eyes lit up, “that’s a _yes_ in my book!”

Dan stifled a laugh as they walked up the stairs to finally take a shower.

Dan looked up from their perch on the couch as Dante rolled through the door. He was covered in _blood_ , a mess of dirt and grime.

“Everything okay?” Dan couldn’t help but ask, even though this exact situation had already played out three times in the week they’d been staying at _Devil_ _May_ _Cry_.

And his response was much the same. “Same old, same old. I wish demons got scared of my reputation the way humans did,” he reached up to grasp his chin and forehead, wringing a crack out of his neck. “Honestly, Hell isn’t that bad, why can’t they just _stay there_ ,” he headed upstairs, tossing a roll of money onto the desk.

Dan’s landlord had conveniently been out of town and refusing to pick up his phone, so no progress had been made on the _clearing up the destroyed apartment_ front. Whatever. They’d done everything they could, it was someone else’s problem for now.

They heard the groan of the pipes as Dante ran the water upstairs.

The living situation was settling into something of a routine, as Dante seemed to have a regular stream of jobs called in from a guy named ‘Morrison.’ Dan had pushed themselves to tidy up as much as they felt comfortable around the common spaces, avoiding touching Dante’s desk and the jukebox—though the latter was mostly out of fear that it would explode.

A lingering anxiety over the living situation might have had something to do with their need to feel useful around the place.

Each passing day that they didn’t hear back from their landlord, or see _any_ thing on the news about their apartment complex, or a mention of, ‘ _hey, what happened to Amy? Haven’t seen her since that night out where you flipped your shit_ ,’ was another waiting for the other shoe to drop with Dante, for them to have overstayed their welcome. He didn’t pay them much attention at all, really. Not like Dan really _wanted_ him to, but the near-complete lack of reaction to their presence had them tending toward the assumption that _he wanted them gone why were they so troublesome waste of space_.

Work had calmed down back to normal levels of exhausting, in time with settling in at Devil May Cry, but the _worry_ over how much longer they had a stable living situation was leaving them completely drained. Finding another place was at the top of their to-do list, but even beginning to think about it made Dan freeze.

_God, you useless—_

“Dan,” Dante’s voice shocked them out of _that_ spiral of thoughts. “You just gonna sit in the dark by yourself, thinking that hard? That kind of dread is for the middle of the night.”

The joke took its time to register, as Dan realized it had gotten _dark_. When the _fuck?_

“Sorry, I—I don’t know what? Time just _went…?”_ Dan rubbed a hand over their face.“I’m. Fuck.” They didn’t know what to say, really. What is there to talk about? How do you respond to that? “I wasn’t paying attention, I--!”

“Hey, dude,” they saw Dante move, but weren’t sure _what_ he was doing, “just a joke. Promise. Feel like you get me, though. I mean, I hope. I feel like you joke about things like that in, you know, lieu of actually dealing with them,” which, they did, mostly. “That wasn’t too depressing, right?” He didn’t look as uncertain as he sounded, and they didn’t believe he felt uncertain at all. But his gesture of…uncertainty comradery was still there, which brought a small comfort.

_Things were fine. Chill. He doesn’t think you’re annoying._ “I am…awake and alive,” they deadpanned.

“Ah, yeah,” he said agreeably, “start with the basic positive things, good strategy. _Oh,_ ” he snapped his fingers, “cards. That’s what normal people do.”

“What normal…people…?” Dan narrowed their eyes as Dante began rummaging in his desk. The lights were still off, but they could see the outline of Dante’s broad shoulders, and his hair was still managing to gleam slightly in near-darkness. “What they ‘do’?”

He stopped to move again, and Dan saw an arm waving as if he were searching for the right words. “To, I don’t know, distract from the general apathy modern existence forces us towards? Shit, something-something…capitalism. Having fun. You familiar?”

Dan took a minute to sit and think. “I am…familiar with the concept of fun.”

“Awesome, another step out of your intense headspace,” it occurred to Dan that Dante might be doing this act (of? kindness?) because he knew exactly what kind of headspace they were getting into, which led to a series of very strange warm feelings in their gut. They pushed the thought away immediately. “Dan,” the shuffling of cards followed Dante saying their name. “War.”

“Can we turn a light on, first?”

“That’d ruin all the fun,” he huffed.

“Ah, I forgot, the fun of War in the dark, where all you do is flip your cards and…pray, I guess.”

“Good luck finding a god that’ll listen.”

“Let’s google a list, then. I’ve got time, and a _lot_ of thoughts, and I’m ready to make them _every_ gods’ problem.”

Dan almost jumped at the laugh their joke earned from Dante, loud and warm and genuine, and suddenly the weight of the past week’s dread and worry was almost completely lifted from their mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This has kind of evolved into short chronicles of Dan (ie vaguely me working thru shit) meeting Dante and learning some lessons. They're nonbinary like a-me and are out here making their way, until they meet Dante one night and it just kind of blossoms into a friendship from there, probably ending up in a dorky romance, but i'm afraid you'll have to wait for that bit.


End file.
